Operation: OnlyHeroes

Nyla’s POV

So, I am supposed to be out there somewhere. In the now cloudy sky, floating, glowing like the sun as publicised. In the training facility, bantering either with Grant or Jake. Or whatever the hell everyone is up to in this stress machine.

Instead, I’m in my room, getting a full body massage from Enigma taking the form a random Vietnamese, while I’m smoking marijuanna. Breast, ass, thighs and feet included. And God forbid, I can’t feel good without giving third-degree burns to masseurs that can’t clone or heal themselves.

“Penny, for your thoughts, ma’am?” They asked.

I let out a puff, then answered, “Nice try, E. Feet. Now.”

“Pfft. Well, I tried.” They pouted.

As if I haven’t known you for some time.

The massage continues.

Enigma’s… hands? Hands are cold, liquidy and solid, all at once. They know exactly how much pressure to use. Exactly where to linger.

They’ve had practice. Years of experience.

Or trail and error.

One could guess from where.

“Now the back.”

“As you wish, ma’am.” They replied, then spanks me in the ass. 

I only let out a giggle. And a moan, obviously. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“Good. Still could've soften it more.” 

“Then get to it after you’re done with my back. Thank you.”

They work their way up my spine, pressing into knots i didn’t know I had. Each knot signifying tension I’ve been carrying for weeks, months, maybe years. The kind of tension that comes from being a symbol. From smiling when you want to pull a resting bitch face.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Enigma says.

“I’m always thinking too loud.”

“Are you sure it’s not the weed talking?”

“No, that’s the me talking. The weed just makes it harder to pretend I’m not.”

They chuckle. “Fair enough.”

I let out another puff. The smoke curls towards the ceiling, dissipating into the shadows of my room. The room is dark except for the faint glow of my skin. I can’t turn it off. I’ve never been able to turn it off. It’s always there, just beneath the surface, waiting.

“Your shoulders are worse than last time,” they note. “Do you know how hard it was to loosen these uptight motherfuckers?”

“No shit, shit for brains.”

Some time later, just as I turn over to lie on my back, there’s a knock on the door.

“H-hello… Solaris?”

The intern.

“I… uh… have what you ordered…”

“Hold on a second, Latte Lad.” I then sat up, covering myself up with a towel. “Alright, come on in.”

The door opens slowly.

Toby steps in, holding a drink tray with one hand and covering his eyes with the other. His face is red. His posture is stiff. He looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

"Eyes forward," I say. "I'm decent."

He lowers his hand. His eyes are wide. He's not looking at me. He's looking at the ceiling. The walls. The floor. Anywhere but me.

"I—uh—I brought your order. Surprise me."

He holds out the tray.

I take it. Look at the cup. It's a chai latte. Cinnamon on top. Foam art of a sun.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Chai?"

"You said surprise me." He shrugs. "I figured you get enough coffee. Chai is different. Cinnamon is good for you. And the sun art felt... Actually it was the barista who suggested it."

I look at him.

He's still not looking at me.

He's looking at Enigma. Who is still in the form of a Vietnamese woman. Who is still naked. Who is still on my bed.

"Oh," Toby says. "I—uh—I didn't—"

“It’s fine,” I interrupted. “She was just leaving,” then I gestured him to shoo off. And he does, but not without strutting and winking at the both of us— as usual.

The door clicks shut behind them.

The room is quiet. Just me and Toby. And the chai latte. And the lingering scent of marijuana. And the faint glow of my skin that I still can't turn off.

Toby is still not looking at me.

He's looking at the door. The ceiling. The floor. His shoes. His hands. The cup he just delivered. Anywhere but me.

"Latte Lad."

He flinches. "Yeah?"

"You can look at me now."

He slowly turns his head. His eyes meet mine. Then immediately drop to the towel. Then back to the ceiling. Then back to the door.

"Are you always this nervous around goddesses?"

"There was a time where I was never in the presence of gods."

I laugh. It's genuine. Surprising.

"Fair."

He relaxes. Slightly. His shoulders drop. His breathing steadies. He's still nervous. But he's not terrified anymore.

"That's... a lot of weed," he says, gesturing vaguely at the smoke still curling toward the ceiling.

"I'm a goddess. I can handle it."

"That's not how marijuana works."

"And you would know, because..."

"Nevermind."

I smile. "You're an odd one, Latte Lad."

"It's just Toby."

"And I'm just Nyla. Nice to meet you." He chuckled. Not that I haven't heard any in my life- I've shared some with the team- but this one, it was... somehow endearing?                                        

I hold the cup in front of him. "Sip."

He blinks. "What?"

"Sip. Taste it. Tell me if it's good."

"I—uh—I can't—"

"You brought it for me. The least you can do is taste it."

He hesitates. Then takes the cup. His fingers brush mine. He flinches. I pretend not to notice.

He takes a sip.

His eyes widen.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"That's... really good."

I smile. "I know."

He hands it back. "You already knew?"

"You said you asked the barista for something different. Something warm. Something comforting. Good instinct."

He looks at me. Really looks at me. The towel. The glow. The room.

And then, I took a sip.

"Congratulations," I say, lowering the cup. "You've won my trust."

He blinks. "I—what?"

"You heard me."

"That's—that's a thing? Winning your trust?"

"It is now."

He stares at me. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

I giggle, reaching up to close his mouth for him. My fingers brush his chin. Soft. Brief. He freezes.

"There," I say. "Much better."

He swallows. "I—uh—thanks?"

"You're welcome."

He's still frozen. Still staring. Still trying to process what just happened.

"I should—"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, you should."

He turns toward the door. Stops. Turns back.

"Nyla?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Two hours later, I enter the training facility, where I find Jake literally running circles around Grant.

Not metaphorically. Literally. He's a blur of red and gold, leaving afterimages in his wake. Grant is standing in the center, arms crossed, trying to track him. Failing.

"Come on, Boss!" Jake's voice echoes from everywhere at once. "You're supposed to be the fastest man alive!"

"I'm not the fastest. You're the fastest. I'm just the strongest."

"Sounds like an excuse to me!"

Grant sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're insufferable."

"And you're slow!"

I lean against the doorframe. Watch. Amused.

And there it was. A slow, cinematic build up of the signature move of signature moves. The same move that evaporated a whole swarm of mosquitos that attacked New Chicago.

I projected my shield for impact. Then...

CLAP!

Jake is sent blown away in the wind like an empty plastic bag.

He crashes into the far wall. Slides down. Lands in a heap.

For a moment, he doesn't move.

Then, a muffled groan.

"...Worth it."

Grant lowers his hands. "You okay?"

"Define 'okay.'"

Grant and I both laughed.

Jake groans again, pushing himself up. His suit is scuffed. His hair is a disaster. There's a dent in the wall shaped suspiciously like his shoulder blades.

"That," he says, pointing at Grant, "was unnecessary."

"You were annoying. And still are."

"I'm always annoying. That's my brand."

"It’s exhausting."

"And yet you keep me around."

Grant rolls his eyes. But he's smiling. Just a little.

Jake limps over to the bench. Sits down. Hisses.

"Okay, that actually hurt."

"You'll heal."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The point is—" He pauses. Thinks. "I don't know. I just wanted to complain."

"You're always complaining."

"I'm always in pain. There's a difference."

Grant shakes his head. Walks over. Sits down next to him. There's a beat of silence.

"You're getting faster," Grant says.

"I know."

"Annoying."

"Also know."

"Did you ever think about slowing down?"

Jake looks at him. Genuinely puzzled.

"Why would I do that?"

"To rest."

"I don't need to rest."

"Everyone needs to rest."

"Says the guy who never rests."

Grant opens his mouth. Closes it. Laughs.

"You actually make a fair point for once."

“Hey!”

The speaker crackles.

"All-Star. That's another state wide natural disaster the PR department has to spin."

Grant's hand is still raised. His expression shifts. Guilt. Annoyance. Both.

"It wasn't a natural disaster," he says to the ceiling. "It was a training exercise."

"The training exercise that created a sonic boom heard across three counties?"

"...Okay, it was a loud training exercise."

"The windows in the financial district shattered."

"...That's bad."

The speaker clicks off.

Grant stares at the ceiling. "I hate this building."

"Yeah, me two," I say.

"Me three," Jake adds, still rubbing his shoulder.

We sit there for a moment. Staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Boss? One more sess?" Jake asks.

"Sure," Grant says.

I push myself off the bench. Roll my shoulders. The glow flickers. Brightens.

"Count me in," I say.

Jake grins. "You sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

"That's not true. I could definitely hurt you."

"Try me."

He bounces on his heels. "Alright, sunshine. Let's see what you got."

Jake zips to the center of the room. Grant follows. Slower. Deliberate.

I take my place opposite them. The glow is brighter now. Warmer. I'm not hiding it.

"Same rules as last time?" Jake asks.

"Same rules," Grant confirms.

"Which are?" I ask.

Jake looks at me. "Don't get hit."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"And if you get hit?"

He shrugs. "Then you lose."

I raise an eyebrow. "That's a terrible rule set."

"It's not a rule set. It's a philosophy."

"It's really not."

Jake grins. "You sound like Boss."

"Maybe that's a compliment."

Grant laughs. "Alright. Let's do this."

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